The North Pole
by LionAmongTheSheep
Summary: GerIta Modern/StripperFic AU. Ludwig is dragged out to a strip club by his older brother. But little does he know, 1) It's a gay bar, and 2) This particular event would change everything, once he sets eyes on a beautiful, honey haired boy.
1. Chapter 1

Tedious was the best word. It was the only word, but also the best word to describe Ludwig Beilschmidt. He was a hard working man, always arriving early to the office and leaving well after everyone else because he was a man of efficiency and he wanted to do his job well. It was indeed hard to screw up being a Travel Agent, but he'd been told on numerous occasions that his demeanor and serious aura made him seem less interested in the customers so his logic dictated that he should just work harder.

It was always the same. Wake up, shower, comb back hair, get dressed in a stuffy suit, then work for more than 12 hours. Every single day, Monday through Friday, it was always the same. Naturally, any family members that still spoke to him worried about his health, even though he was as tall and bulky as ever, and his brother never left him alone about 'loosening up' and being more 'awesome'. It was bothersome but never did Ludwig say anything because he did realize that his lifestyle wasn't the healthiest one but he enjoyed working and nothing would change that.

That was why, when Gilbert came strutting into the office at 6:00 when most everyone but Ludwig was gone, the blond got an overwhelming sense of foreboding that said Gilbert was here to bug him about something. Again.

"WEST! How's my favorite brother doing? Awesome of course, because I'm here to entertain you! Anyways before you kick me out I have a proposition for you!"

Sighing tiredly, Ludwig set his glasses down on the desk and rubbed the bridge of his nose between two fingers.

"What is it now Gilbert? I am working."

"Yeah, I know, that's why I'm here! You need to get out and go somewhere that isn't your boring stuffy office or your boring stuffy house. Just tonight, then I won't ask again for like, a month."

"I can't. I have to work. I have vacation portfolios that are due next Thursday."

"It's like, Friday. You have a week. Please West c'mon! Just tonight."

Ludwig cradled his chin in his hand, peering up at the albino with resigned eyes.

"Make it two months that you do not bug me, and we have a deal."

Gilbert actually reeled back a bit, surprise written over his face and his jaw dropped. After a few seconds of spluttering and unconvinced squinting, he finally said something intelligible.

"Are you for real? Seriously?"

He received a tired nod.

"Alright! But you like, seriously gotta change out of that suit and wear something a bit more . . . attractive. I'll pick you up at 7:30, so get your ass home and get ready, because I WILL be on time."

With that, leaving no more room for discussion, Gilbert left as quickly as he arrived, leaving Ludwig to grumble to himself while he packed up.

It wasn't that Ludwig didn't enjoy spending time with his brother, or that he hated going out. He just liked his job and the satisfaction that came with doing it well better. But, as much as he hated to admit it to himself, he really did need at least one night of loosening up. His body was starting to take the blunt end of all the stress, and if he didn't get a few beers and a good time in his system he might actually end up hurting himself.

So, once he'd put his laptop and glasses into his briefcase, he made his way down to his car to drive home. He milled over where Gilbert was planning on taking them but for the life of him couldn't think of anywhere his brother liked to go. So was the toll of never going out _with_ him.

When 7:25 rolled around, Ludwig was freshly showered and dressed in khaki pants with a blue and white striped button up and a black zipped up jacket over it, both sleeves rolled to his elbows. He nodded once before pushing his hair back with his fingers and grabbing his wallet and keys.

Gilbert was, surprisingly, right on time. It seemed that he was if it was something he wanted to do, naturally. It only took a few seconds of waiting before he started honking obnoxiously.

After Ludwig locked the doors and walked outside to get in the car, he was greeted with a shockingly well dressed Gilbert who, by Ludwig's assessment, looked much too excited.

"Woah! Is that my baby brother all dressed like a normal 24 year old?"

"I was lucky to find these clothes in my closet. I did not even remember owning these. You look more dressed up than usual. Where are we even going?"

"Ahh, you'll see in due time."

Sighing and shaking his head, Ludwig buckled his seatbelt and prepared for the ride that would undoubtedly consist of terrifying driving, loud Rammstein threatening to burst the speakers, and Gilbert screaming German curses at anyone driving less than ten miles per hour over the speed limit. It would not be fun, in lesser terms.

After about ten minutes in the nightmare on wheels, they pulled into a parking lot that sat very full in front of a building that Ludwig could already hear the music coming out of. He already didn't like this.

"Gilbert, where are we?"

"The North Pole."

"What? I am being serious."

"Yeah, so am I. This place is called The North Pole. You'll see why."

Then with a wink of an eye, Gilbert turned off the engine and stepped out of the car, Ludwig close behind.

When they got closer to the door, Ludwig could smell the thick stench of alcohol, cigarettes, and sweat permeating from the inside of wherever they were. Loud music also filtered out from the tinted glass doors and once they'd passed the suspicious group lingering just a few feet away, Ludwig fell into step close to Gilbert. He already had a small idea of where exactly they were.

He was right. But at the same time, he was so, so wrong.

He'd expected the tinted lights and the loud music. He'd expected the packed bar and abundance of people. Yes, he even expected half naked people dancing on poles in provocative clothing that was littered with singles and sometimes larger bills.

But he had not expected that all of these dancers would be men and that the bartender would shout out familiar greetings to Gilbert as if he'd been there a thousand times.

"Gilbert Beilschmidt. You took me to a gay strip club."

Gilbert looked over his shoulder at Ludwig like he'd just said the dumbest thing ever.

"Well, yeah. I always come here on Friday nights. It's like, the greatest place ever."

"You never told me you were gay."

"Neither did you but I just figured it out on my own."

Ludwig's jaw dropped.

"What makes you think I'm gay?"

"Bro, I just know stuff like this. Am I wrong?"

He just stared with pink cheeks and a dying noise squeaking from his throat. He couldn't really think of anything to say. When Gilbert smirked and nodded, continuing his path to an empty table near the back.

Once they'd sat down and Ludwig resigned to his fate, he took a look around and was immediately bored with every one of the dancers. Sure, they were attractive and yes they had very nice bodies and faces but that's all they were. Bodies and faces. They weren't beautiful or stunning nor did they possess any allure. He saw nothing that would ever peak his interest.

He decided to at least get something out of the night, so while Gilbert seemed mesmerized by a particularly risqué dancer, Ludwig stood to go get them beer.

The club was actually decently nice, and even Ludwig could admit that it seemed to be capable of offering a fun night. He shook his head and let out a tired chuckle. It was so very like Gilbert to pull this.

The beer was great. Fantastic, actually, so that added another check to the good side of Ludwig's mental good-bad chart. He held Gilberts in one hand as he sipped at his own and tried to maneuver between the hoard surrounding the bar. It had taken him twenty minutes just to get two beers and by now the song had changed to that of something by Adam Lambert, something that seemed fitting, Ludwig thought. But he also figured he should get back to Gilbert before he began to assume he'd already picked up someone to bring home.

But when he passed the first station closest to the bar he was immediately halted, his feet heavy like lead and his eyes glued on the scantily clad figure on top of the marble surface.

The dancer that was there before must have switched with the boy who was there now, because there was no way that Ludwig would have ever missed someone as incredibly and impeccably beautiful as this. His eyes were drawn, and he couldn't look away.

He was young. Maybe 22, but Ludwig was skeptical because how could anyone older than that be so gorgeous? A lithe body with sun kissed skin and long feminine legs and the tiniest most adorable feet Ludwig had ever seen on a male, his enchantingly tight behind encased in tiny red shorts that Ludwig would never get the image of out of his head. Not to mention the slender hips and supple stomach that led to a perfect chest but broad shoulders and long arms that had the perfect amount of muscle that rippled slightly under his skin as he pulled himself up.

But the one thing that captured Ludwig's attention was his face. Oh God his face, with pink pouty lips and a small perfect nose and huge amber eyes that were surrounded by long thick lashes. He was beautiful. Strikingly, heart breakingly, heavenly beautiful, and when his honey auburn hair that was as smooth and shiny as silk fell into his eyes as he tossed his head back, Ludwig swore that the light caught him in such a way that made him seem like the sun.

He just stared, and stared, and did not move until the boy was finished, his gems of eyes giving a wink as he strut off of the stage with his outrageous amount of tips. It was then and only then that Ludwig shook himself from his stupor and begrudgingly made his way back to the table, only to be met with a disgruntled Gilbert.

"Where the hell did you go? I assumed you were getting beer and I've been waiting for like, forty five minutes."

"I did get beer. There was . . . a long wait."

Ludwig sat the now room temperature beer in front of his brother, who after frowning at the beer cracked a suspicious smirk.

"You talked to someone, didn't you?"

"Er, no, not exactly."

"Ahh, so you saw someone who interested you, did you not?"

Ludwig blushed and drank his beer while his eyes burned a hole in the floor.

"Oh man, my baby brother got all caught up in a strip dance, how cute! So, which one was it? Show me, show me."

"Nein, he is gone already. He only did one dance, then left. But he got more tips than most of these guys see in probably two entire nights of work. He was . . . something."

Gilbert let out one of his strange snickers and sipped at his beer some more.

"Was he the one at the station nearest to the bar?"

Ludwig nodded.

"Oh! Well, I couldn't see him too well, but Mattie says that he just started working here last week. Seems like he's doing a pretty kick ass job though if he got Mr. Stuffy Pants to gawk at him!"

"Who's Mattie?"

"Oh, just some cute Canadian kid who gets dragged here by his annoying brother on Friday nights."

"Sounds like a familiar situation."

Gilbert just laughed and slapped Ludwig on the shoulder while drinking his beer, continuing to watch the other dancers and chat with who Ludwig assumed was Matt. Once it reached around one in the morning, Ludwig called a cab and dragged Gilbert outside while he slurred about wanting to drink 'just one more beer West just one more' even though he'd already had around six or seven. He'd lost count.

So, after that night, Ludwig continued his every day schedule, grueling and boring but productive and time worthy. At least to him. It continued that way, Ludwig falling back into the normal swing of things and content to the fullest.

But on Monday when he sat in his office surrounded by papers and the scent of fresh printed documents and the sound of his computer fan whirring as the only thing to break the silence, he suddenly wished to be back at the club and watching the mesmerizing body of the dancer he'd been so entranced by. He simply craved the way that lithe frame moved, the way the soft lights played perfectly over his soft skin, the way his shorts fit so tight and they were the only thing on his body at all because he didn't need to be covering that gift to Earth.

He shook his head and sighed, trying to concentrate on work again instead of replaying the short ten minutes in his brain. He did, however, decide that he wanted to see him again badly enough to endure another night out with Gilbert. It wasn't usually that Ludwig went out anyways, so it wouldn't hurt too much.

So, he texted Gilbert to tell him that he'd be going with him again on Friday and that seemed to make his brother's day because he would not stop texting back numerous times about what he'd be wearing and what time they should go and many other stupid benign things that Ludwig did not care about.

Friday came and went, Ludwig extremely and obviously upset that for some reason the dancer was nowhere to be found, even though they'd gone at the same time as the week before. Then, another Friday passed, and another, and finally a month later, Ludwig had still seen no sign of the boy even though he'd spend hours upon hours in that club every Friday night with Gilbert just waiting, craving, hoping. But there was nothing. It was like he'd vanished.

So, here he was, Saturday afternoon, sitting in his living room with lemonade and a book in his hand. He was bored, really, but he was also disappointed and upset, and honestly he didn't want to deal with anyone or go anywhere.

But Gilbert had other plans. He'd texted Ludwig, effectively scaring him senseless because of the shrill beeping in the stark silence, to ask him to pick up something for him at the art store because he was out of gas and he had a sculpture he was desperately trying to finish and needed supplies.

So, begrudgingly and with a loud string of curses and groans, he got dressed and dragged himself out the front door to drive to the art store in the center of town. As much as he didn't want to go out, he did thoroughly enjoy the scent of paint, wood, and clay that wafted over him once he'd entered the shop. He was by no means an artist, but he loved the scent of the supplies. It was Earthy, pure, and beautiful.

Now, scanning the isle that had massive blocks of clay, he was mumbling idly to himself in an attempt to find the exact type that Gilbert, repeatedly and obnoxiously, requested. It all looked the same, but if you touched it, some was rock solid while others were dark and watery and molded under one touch, and some was green and smelled of moss and there were even blocks of pure white clay that had baking instructions on it, which Ludwig didn't really understand. But eventually he found what Gilbert wanted, it of course being a brand that was tucked away into the furthest corner.

So, tucking the large rectangle under his arm, he made his way around the next isle, which happened to be paints, to go check out and drop the clay off at Gilbert's apartment.

But when he turned the corner he stopped, the feeling in his stomach and the weight of his feet all too familiar to that of the first Friday night that month ago. He felt like he just couldn't move, like his eyes were glued and motionless and his entire body was that of a boulder.

Because there he stood, his knee high brown boots over his corduroy khaki pants and his long brown fall coat with his hands shoved deep into the pockets. The bright blue scarf that was wrapped around his neck hid his chin and mouth, but the eyes were absolutely unmistakable along with his figure that Ludwig could see even under the jacket and in the pants. He was smiling, it could be seen clearly in his eyes, and he was staring at the assortment of paints and canvases like a child in a candy shop. He seemed to be in love, enchanted at the sight of so many different paints and brushes and sizes of canvas, but when Ludwig watched him pick up a tube and look down at the price, his eyes widening and then turning sad, it almost broke his heart.

So, mustering up any and every ounce of courage he had, Ludwig slowly meandered up next to the other, following his line of vision to a particularly beautiful shade of blue.

"You are a painter."

The smaller seemed to jump a bit at the new voice next to him, but immediately relaxed and turned to look up at Ludwig with a dimpled smile. Ludwig just about melted.

"Yes. It's just that . . . I am almost out of paints, and I just moved here so I've never seen an art store this big! There's so many . . . It's incredible, really, but I really don't have the money to buy even the cheapest ones. See, I moved here because my brother is in the hospital and I wanted to be closer to him but I also have to help with the bills and pay my rent and I have a . . . not so great job so . . . Oh, I'm so sorry. . . I am talking too much."

Ludwig was surprised at the boy's voice. It was soft, like wind chimes, but had a heavy presence and was very hard to ignore. But it was so beautiful, and honestly Ludwig could listen to him talk forever.

"No. It is okay, I assure you. My brother talks much more than you do."

"Oh. Well, I'm glad. I've been told that I speak too much. You seem very nice. What's your name, if you don't mind my asking?"

"Ah, it's uh . . . It's Ludwig. Ludwig Beilschmidt."

He stuck his hand out and tried his best to smile warmly, and he assumed he succeeded when a substantially smaller hand did its best to wrap around his.

"Feliciano Vargas. It's nice to make your acquaintance Ludwig."

Ah, his name was beautiful as well. Feliciano. Ludwig just couldn't imagine how this sweet boy was a stripper. It escaped him entirely. But he wanted to do something nice for him. It sounded to Ludwig like life was not treating the other too nicely, so he figured a good deed could brighten his day.

"Er, I'll tell you what Feliciano."

The other looked up at Ludwig with a curiously quirked brow, silently asking what it was Ludwig was implying.

"You go ahead and pick out whatever you want, and I will buy it for you. You are a very nice boy and seem to be caring enough to move somewhere unfamiliar for your brother, so you deserve it."

Ludwig had a hard time not blushing, but when he noticed the smile that erupted like fireworks on Feliciano's face, he couldn't really help it. It seemed to make him so happy.

"R-Really? Are you sure? These are so expensive. . ."

"Please, by all means. Pick out as many of whatever as you'd like."

Feliciano just nodded and turned to the racks once again, his hands picking up bright colors, and subdued colors, and neutral colors as well as warm colors and cool colors and anything in between. Not once did the price cross Ludwig's mind. The only thing he thought about was how happy Feliciano looked, and how he lingered the longest at the blues because it seemed to be his favorite color, and how his smile did not falter once. It made warmth bloom in Ludwig's stomach.

After picking up a couple medium sized canvases, Feliciano looked up at Ludwig and, still smiling, nodded that he was done. All in all, he only got about fifteen or twenty tubes of paint and two canvases. It wasn't even close to what Ludwig thought he would pick up, actually.

They walked up to check out, Ludwig simply swiping his credit card and watching the bouncy brunette from the corner of his eyes, and then went out into the fall air. Ludwig turned to Feliciano just in time to be engulfed in a tight hug that made him gasp and blush like a tomato.

"Thank you so much. Really, this means a lot. I really don't know what I would do if I couldn't paint and I am almost out at home and I'm just so stressed lately so . . . thank you, Ludwig. Can I, uh, at least treat you to some coffee?"

Ludwig wanted to. He really wanted to, and his mind was screaming at him to say yes or else he'd probably never see Feliciano again. So, he really, really couldn't fathom why he said what he did.

"I wish I could, but I need to go give this to my brother or else he'll start freaking out, and he needs it for a sculpture right now so. . . I am sorry, but I can't."

Feliciano's smile seemed to falter just a bit and Ludwig mentally slapped himself for doing that because Feliciano was so amazing even in the short fifteen minutes they'd known each other. He was drawn in and he didn't think he could get out again, but damn him and his own nerves.

"Oh, that's okay Ludwig. But, thank you SO much for this. Maybe one day I can make it up to you!"

With that, Ludwig watched him walk away, a skip in his step and a grin on his face as he walked down the sidewalk and out of sight once again. Ludwig didn't know when or if he'd ever see him again, but hearing that voice, seeing that smile, learning that name, made it all worthwhile. He still hoped though, that next time Feliciano would really be there on Friday night and if he was, Ludwig promised himself that he would not hesitate. He couldn't let this one go. He was far too beautiful.


	2. Chapter 2

After that day, the time seemed to creep by at a choking pace, the days almost smothering Ludwig with their blandness. It was honestly surprising because it used to be that Ludwig loved working and staying at the office but that boy showed up and he was all that lingered in the German's brain. He'd only met him once, officially, and it seemed so creepy to have these feelings for someone who he didn't even know, let alone the fact that he'd probably never see him again.

But really, he might be quiet and composed and studious, but over any of those things he was incredibly stubborn and determined so, while playing it cool, he'd continue his search of the elusive brunette. He simply had to. It was like someone had set a fire ten times that of hell itself in the pits of his stomach that burned like a craving and the only thing that could put it out was the presence of a tiny artist.

So, that entire work week, he strained immensely to keep his emotions and expressions in check to make it seem like he wasn't extremely anxious for Friday night. Like he wasn't waiting, hoping to catch even a glimpse of Feliciano. Like he wasn't aching inside. It was unlike any sensation he'd ever felt. It affected his work just slightly, his concentration wavering just enough to make him sigh in defeat and leave for home two hours before he normally would.

Then, in all of its glory and anticipation, Friday came, and Ludwig was sporting dark jeans with a white button up and a blue jacket. The color had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that blue was probably Feliciano's favorite color, and it definitely didn't get chosen because of its ability to make Ludwig's icy eyes just that much more piercing. No, not at all.

Gilbert picked him up at the usual time, 7:30, and they arrived ten minutes later to find Ivan at the bar again, giving a strangely warm welcome to Gilbert. The two, Ludwig noticed, seemed to speak a lot. It was only the week before that Ludwig had found out they were bragging to each other about their respective boyfriends and Ludwig effectively cuffed his brother on the back of the neck for not telling him about his relationship. But, after a few beers, neither one cared much for fighting and opted to just talk to Ivan and watch the other dancers.

Tonight was no different, except Ivan wasn't bartending. A new worker, most likely, was scampering around behind the bar, his sleeve covered hands mixing drinks with actual finesse that Ivan lacked. He was small and appeared Chinese, and the only way Ludwig and Gilbert knew that he was in fact a he was when he spoke. Otherwise, the feminine physique and long black ponytail would have hid the fact. They later learned that he was in fact Ivan's boyfriend who'd needed a job and landed one bartending on nights that Ivan had . . . other engagements. No one delved into that any further.

When it reached around 9:30, Ludwig was growing hopeless once again, but since he wasn't at work and he happened to be just a tad drunk off his rocker, his disappointment was written well on his face.

"Hey, bro, what's got ya down?"

"Huh? Oh . . . It is nothing."

"You're lyin' to the awesome me? Unacceptable! You've been waitin' for your little Italian eye candy to come back, haven't you?"

"How do you know he is Italian?"

"Mattie said so. Now! I'm sure he'll turn up eventually. Just be patient my bro, watched water never boils."

With a resigned sigh, Ludwig slid his empty mug down to Yao, who filled it quickly and slid it back. It didn't take more than ten minutes for Ludwig to repeat the action.

They talked more, and Ludwig began to regret his decisions involving alcohol just as Yao cut him off. At least he was more sensible than Ivan who would just giggle and see how drunk he could get his customers. But all in all, Ludwig was happy because if Feliciano did show up, he wanted to remember it.

But he ended up regretting that sentiment because frankly he wasn't expecting the Italian to actually show up, let alone show up in white jean shorts that should not be legal for someone with those legs and sheer red stockings that reached the middle of his milky thighs, his feet bare as always. Ludwig had to grab the counter to stay on the barstool. He was even more beautiful than Ludwig remembered.

Then when he started dancing it was really like he'd left this place and gone to his own little world, putting on a façade so the people pooling around his station would believe he was actually into what he was doing. But Ludwig could see, and he knew. Because not only was Feliciano being uncharacteristically lewd, his eyes that lit up like the sun while surrounded by paints and brushes of varieties he'd probably never seen, were utterly spacey and shut off. It was very clear that he did not like what he was doing, moreover did it because he had no choice. And that hurt to the core.

But Ludwig didn't even know the kinds of things going on in Feliciano's life. It was not his business. Really. But how, he tried to ask himself, could he ignore someone like that? Someone so sweet and kind and lovely and talented who was pushed down to something he didn't want to do just for money.

Well, as though the world were testing him, Ludwig was not given much time to think about these things because unfolding In front of his eyes was a scene that enraged him so much, that his hand found purchase on Gilbert's forearm, his vice grip causing the albino to wince. But once he looked up as well, he understood.

One must realize that it is extremely rude, and in most places against the rules, to touch the dancers. Especially the way two obviously drunk men were attempting to touch Feliciano, and Ludwig was seeing red because how dare they put their disgusting fingers on such a pure individual, and how dare they slur those infuriating words at him.

"Gilbert. Get them off of him, and I'll take him outside. Go, hurry."

"Got it."

So they went, and as Ludwig paid little attention to the two men who were now unfocused on Feliciano and more so on Gilbert, he reached up to grip Feliciano's tiny trembling fingers in his own. Brown eyes met blue and there was a spark of recognition before the Italian was gripping back and sliding off the high tabletop to glue his body against Ludwig's.

Quickly, before anyone stopped them, Ludwig took Feliciano out the front door and shrugged his jacket off to pull onto the still shaky boy standing in front of him, zipping it up around the small frame. He placed his hands lightly on Feliciano's shoulders and patiently waited for the other to stop staring holes into the pavement and instead look up at him so he could speak. And once he did Ludwig just smiled warmly.

"Are you alright? You are still shaking."

In all honesty, Feliciano wasn't only shaking but looked as though he were about to burst into tears and crumple like a rag doll right there on the blacktop. Ludwig moved one hand to rest on the top of Feliciano's head, his fingers carding through soft locks. When Feliciano spoke, it was with a small voice. One of regret.

"I'm fine . . . I wish that you had not been there to see that. It actually happens a lot but . . . Usually it's just the words, not the touches, so . . ."

"I will not expect you to answer anything that you are not comfortable with, so don't feel pressured. But, why do you do this?"

Feliciano's eyes went wide, but returned to their sad state soon after, and with a sigh, he placed his own hand over Ludwig's that was resting on his shoulder.

"Both my brother and I, we used to dance together in the academy that was in our old town. Every genre you could think of, we could usually accomplish within a week or two of practicing. But my favorite, honestly, had always been pole dancing, because it truly takes a lot of strength and if it is done in a strictly dancing respect, it is quite graceful. People just sexualize it a lot. It made me feel strong."

He let out a sad chuckle and Ludwig immediately decided that sad laughs were not okay.

"Lovino, he was always good at Latin dances. His partner, Antonio, who he'd actually started dating not too long after, moved there from Spain a few months before so . . . But for me it was always that. So, when Lovino got sick and couldn't dance anymore, it was already a blow to my confidence. I'd always danced with Lovino, even if it wasn't in the same genre. We still did it together. So I lost a bit of my happiness and in turn my confidence."

The hold on Ludwig's hand tightened, and the tears came, and the world stopped.

"Then I decided . . . I was so unhappy there on my own, with no one. I'd spent so much time with Lovino that I'd realized I had no other friends. So in order to be closer to him I quit my job and moved here but then the bills kept coming and the rent and groceries and . . . I needed a job. But part time wasn't going to cut it. It just wouldn't. And I was really only good at one thing. So . . . I took what I could get because I needed the money. It's not too bad . . . really . . ."

Feliciano sniffled and used his other hand to wipe the tears from his cheeks, the sleeve of Ludwig's jacket swallowing his hand much like Yao's clothes did on him. It was then that Ludwig noticed just how little Feliciano was and how his jacket draped over him like a gown and he realized that the world had royally fucked him and it just made him seem all the more smaller. Like a speck of dust that would never be able to tip the scales in his favor.

But Ludwig still felt warmth in his body simply from the boy standing near him. He wanted to help, he wanted Feliciano in his life. He wanted to make him happy. He wanted to give him a chance.

"Feliciano, how old are you?"

"Twenty."

Oh. _Oh._ This was surprising, and Ludwig didn't really know what to say, but he could tell that his eyes had probably gone wide because Feliciano looked extremely ashamed and gripped the front of the jacket to pull it over the lower half of his face. It was final. There wasn't a deity in the universe that could make him turn back now.

"I want you to quite this job. It hurts you, and it makes you sad. You should not be doing these things."

"I need the money. I really don't have a choice! If I did I definitely wouldn't be doing this Ludwig, I promise. But I don't have a choice."

"Yes, you do."

"W-What? What do you mean?"

"Quit this job. I will help you as much as you need, but I will not sit by and allow you to live so unhappily like this. You should be at home right now, painting or sleeping. Not doing this."

Feliciano looked stunned, for lack of a better term, and Ludwig could practically see the inner conflict through the amber eyes. Ludwig was probably confusing the hell out of him. What person offers to help someone financially after meeting them once? Who does these things for some twenty year old kid who'd been kicked down by life?

Ludwig would never have his answer, because he didn't see himself as some hero or good Samaritan. He was just doing what was right and doing what he felt inclined to do, because Feliciano was sweet and kind and didn't fit this scene.

And when Feliciano started crying again Ludwig felt his heart skip because he was smiling and giggling through the tiny hiccups.

"You are a very kind person Ludwig . . . I hope you know what you're getting yourself into here . . . I have so many bills and expenses. I have to pay for Lovino's hospital bills, my rent, food, utilities . . . It's not that simple."

"It is. I make more than I know what to do with. Let me help you."

"Why?"

It was asked with zero hesitation and such bluntness that Ludwig couldn't help but stumble over his words. But he found the right ones and spoke with all the sincerity that he could muster, staring straight into the Italian's eyes.

"Because you deserve it. I promise."

It was then that Feliciano stopped his crying, smiled softly, and walked the two steps between himself and Ludwig to bury his face in the other's chest. Ludwig slowly wrapped his arms around the smaller, reaching up to soothingly brush his fingers through Feliciano's hair.

They stayed like that until Gilbert finally showed up, sporting a new black eyes and a split lip, and suggested they leave before those 'un-awesome pricks' woke back up from their little nap-slash-coma. Ludwig felt Feliciano giggle against his chest, and couldn't help but smile the most sincere smile he'd worn in quite a while. Even Gilbert seemed surprised.

"So, am I calling separate cabs or what West?"

Ludwig motioned 'one second' with his finger and looked down at Feliciano, who seemed half asleep and very content against his newly claimed perch.

"Would you like to stay with me tonight? I can understand how you'd like not to be alone after all that."

The Italian nodded sleepily and Ludwig told Gilbert to call for two cabs, which earned him a strangely comforting smile from his usually perverted brother.

Ludwig let Feliciano stay leaned up against him until the cab got there, for the entire ride home, and up the driveway to the front door. He tried to tell himself that it was purely from exhaustion but he had a tiny spark of hope in the back of his head that told him it was for many other things. He ignored it, however, and concentrated on getting the other onto the couch.

"Feliciano, do you want coffee?"

"Mm . . . Yes please . . ."

Ludwig shook his head and walked into the kitchen, not entirely convinced that Feliciano would even be able to stay awake to drink any coffee. But, he made it anyways and gathered blankets from the linen closet in the laundry room so he could make the couch more comfortable for himself, since he dared not make Feliciano sleep there.

After a few minutes of complete silence, he peeked his head out the door frame and listened again.

"Feliciano, are you still awake?"

Not a peep. Of course.

Sighing in defeat, Ludwig shut off the coffee pot and turned off the kitchen light, picking up the pile of blankets and padding his way back out into the living room to find Feliciano asleep. Not only was he asleep, but he was curled up into the corner of the couch, his knees pulled to his chest and the oversized jacket absolutely engulfing him. It was so cute that Ludwig just about died right then and there.

But it was not the time for creepy peeping and dawdling. It was time to get the little bundle of cuteness to bed. So with that, Ludwig went into his bedroom to turn down the bed before going back out to retrieve Feliciano. Normally, Ludwig would have many qualms about picking someone up and carrying them around, but he just knew that the other would not mind.

Once he got Feliciano tucked into bed, his murmurs of approval enough to satisfy Ludwig's nerves, he made sure to place a glass of water on the nightstand and leave the door cracked in case the other needed to get up and had to see. It felt nice, taking care of someone, so when Ludwig went to sleep on the too-short and lumpy couch, he really couldn't find anything to complain about.

The next morning, Ludwig awoke around nine o'clock and immediately noticed that it was raining outside and his house smelled like coffee and pancakes. Well, that was unusual in itself. But the way the kitchen light was on and Ludwig could hear soft singing and the fact that he wasn't in his bed really confused him.

But then all the memories of the former night came sluggishly marching back into his brain and he made sense of the situation, remembering that he'd let Feliciano stay in his room the night before and he was probably cooking amazing food and why was Ludwig just sitting there?

He stood up and stretched his back, grumbling as he pushed his hair back and wandered out into the kitchen. He was immediately greeted with a mug of coffee and a banana shoved into his hands, along with two aspirins and a bouncing Italian. It was obvious that Feliciano was a morning person because he was still singing and traipsing around the kitchen in . . . nothing but Ludwig's jacket.

Ludwig didn't even feel the scalding liquid in his throat nor could he taste the food he was eating because wow Feliciano looked really cute and he was in _Ludwig's _kitchen, wearing _Ludwig's _jacket, cooking _Ludwig_ pancakes. A very large stack too, by the looks of it.

"Don't forget the aspirin. It'll help with your headache, which I know you have because you look like you got hit by a bus."

Ludwig grimaced and took the pills, washing them down with more coffee.

"Actually the headache is not too bad. It's more the back pain."

"You sound like my grandpa Roma. But you're too young to be like him so, it's different. Now sit, I made food, and it's _squisito!"_

"You speak Italian."

"Yes, I do. I am from Italy, after all."

"You do not have much of an accent."

"I was young when we moved here, and learned English early. I guess the accent just didn't stick in my English too much."

Ludwig smiled and nodded, taking the plate offered to him and sitting at the dining room table. The pancakes were indeed very good and Ludwig couldn't remember the last time he'd had cooking this good for any meal. Which was sad because pancakes are not hard and it really said a lot about his cooking skills.

"You didn't have to do this Feliciano."

"Of course I did. You let me sleep in your house and you're being so helpful. I appreciate it a lot."

"Well . . . You do not ever have to hesitate to come ask for anything that you need. Never."

Feliciano nodded happily and continued eating; his eyes back to their pretty glittering happiness that Ludwig had seen at the art store when they'd first officially met. It made him happy, and he would now be seeing a lot more of the Italian, and on top of that, be able to help him, to make him smile and laugh and be truly content. It was a good feeling. Euphoric. Like life itself nestling its way into Ludwig's once bland and clean cut every day experience.

Things would be better now. Things would be better for the both of them. Even if it was only the beginning of the ride.


	3. Chapter 3

It was like Feliciano Vargas had been in his life for the past 24 years and not once left his side. It was so natural that Ludwig actually felt strange when Feliciano took his leave that Saturday afternoon because he insisted that he'd stayed long enough and he wanted to put his paints to good use so he'd best be going, really. He actually wanted him there.

So, the rest of Saturday night Ludwig spent his time staring unseeingly at the TV and thinking about the Italian. He started to crave pancakes and the coffee that was much too strong but he drank it anyways, and he missed Feliciano singing in Italian while he sat on the counter and watched Ludwig do dishes. It was like he just fell into the blond's life and fit like a puzzle piece.

When Sunday came around, Ludwig had a nice hour long lay in, showered, and had his usual coffee and toast for breakfast. He didn't really know what to do with his day, honestly, and the more he thought about it, the more his mind looped back around to the person he knew he wanted to come back around. So he busied himself with cleaning.

He washed all the laundry, bleached the shower tiles, scrubbed the sinks and bathtub, vacuumed and mopped the floors, dusted the tables and shelves and cabinets, as well as air out the couch cushions and bed comforter. It took him all of six hours and he couldn't have been more satisfied with the way it turned out. It was now 3:00 in the afternoon and Ludwig sat triumphantly with a fresh cup of coffee and his favorite book that he'd been re-reading.

But something was still amiss. It was quiet. Now, normally quiet was great and perfect because he was reading and that was how it should be. However, it was just wrong on this particular day. Perhaps it was the way Ludwig had been trying and trying to get to Feliciano all those weeks and it'd finally happened and he was just so overwhelmingly happy about it that he was restless. Maybe it was because even though, yes, he'd just officially met Feliciano, it seemed like the boy _belonged_ in Ludwig's life. But most of all, maybe this warm feeling in Ludwig's chest when he thought about the Italian's warm hair and eyes and tiny body dashing around in the oversized blue jacket, or how beautifully he spoke his mother tongue, or how he lit up when he saw paint or cooked was making him yearn for the other's company once again.

So Ludwig found himself standing in the kitchen with his cell phone in hand, staring down at the screen which was illuminated with Feliciano's phone number. They'd made sure to give each other their numbers in case Feliciano needed anything or if Ludwig needed to tell him when he'd be going on a business trip or anything of the sort. But now Ludwig was petrified to call him.

After three rings and a peppy 'Ciao!' Ludwig was forced from his stupor and into a stuttering mess. He didn't really know what to say, honestly, so he opted for the first thing that came to his mind.

"Feliciano?"

"Si! Is this Ludwig?"

An affirming grunt and nothing more.

"Ah fantastic! I was actually going to call you later because I was supposed to go to the hospital to see Lovino with Antonio but they said that there were no visitors allowed today so now I am bored."

"I see. Well, I am sorry about you not being able to see your brother. But I was bored as well, so why don't we go get some dinner somewhere? Or . . . You could come here? It does not matter to me."

Ludwig almost died because Feliciano let out the most adorable giggle that he'd ever heard and it really just made him feel entirely good, inside and out.

"I'd love to go out. We can go to Antonio's restaurant! He decided to work tonight, I think, to get his mind off of everything else. I'm sure he'd love to meet you!"

"Y-You told him everything?"

"Well, yes. Other than Lovino, I see him as my brother. He's very grateful to you, you know!"

Ludwig nodded thoughtfully.

"Okay. Well, I will come pick you up around 5:30? Just tell me your address . . ."

"Um, how about you just pick me up from the art store? I was planning on going to pick something up anyways. I can just go later."

It was strange, and had he not been so stunned and admittedly giddy from the fact that Feliciano was going to dinner with him, he'd have asked more questions. But his judgment was clouded with excitement.

"Ja, that sounds fine. See you then."

"Ciao!"

And with that, Ludwig hung up and walked back into the living room to flop down on the couch. That was weird. Very weird, and very suspicious, and very unnerving and worrisome. Why would Feliciano not want Ludwig to know where he lived? What was he hiding? Did he live in a bad part of town, or did he not live anywhere at all? Maybe he was a drug dealer, or part of a gang . . .

Ludwig shook his head and rolled his eyes at himself, the ideas all sounding absolutely absurd. Then again, Feliciano being a stripper would have been quite absurd to him had he not witnessed it firsthand.

So, he decided to do what any sensible . . . Or not so sensible person would do.

He'd call the only person older than him that he (somewhat) trusted and get some brotherly advice. Gilbert may not be the most serious person ever, but when presented with a worried little brother and a dire situation, he could be surprisingly wise and kind and Ludwig would never turn to anyone other than him.

So once again he picked up his phone and dialed the albino, his gruff voice chiming on after a few rings.

"Hallo, it is the awesome me speaking, how can I help you mein baby bruder?"

"How many times must I tell you to stop calling me your 'baby' brother? I have a question, and I need a real honest answer Gilbert. No messing around, it is serious."

Ludwig could always tell when Gilbert shifted into his serious mood because he could hear the man's porch door slide open, then close, then a lighter and a deep breath. His brother had a nasty habit of smoking when he went all philosophical.

"What happened? Does it have to do with the little Italian?"

"Ja. I invited him to dinner and offered to pick him up at his home, and he got very nervous and asked if I could pick him up in front of the art store instead. It is strange to me. Why would he not want me to know where he lives?"

A thoughtful hum and a deep inhale later, Gilbert replied in a way that made Ludwig want to teleport to his house and punch him in the face.

"I don't know dude! He just met you. Give him time to get used to this. It's like, he might be that type of person who feels weird about showing people their house and anything personal until they know them a hell of a lot better!"

"I'm pretty sure I've seen enough personal things about Feliciano, Gilbert. He made me pancakes in nothing but my jacket. I literally mean _nothing else._ I do not think it's that . . ."

"Hmm, well I really wish I could tell you more but I've got nothing this time. Just don't do anything to scare him off . . . I haven't seen you that happy in a while."

Gilbert hung up, then, and Ludwig just felt worse. But he couldn't bring himself to let it get him in too terrible of a mood, because he had a date with Feliciano. Was it a date? They were just having dinner, as friends. Acquaintances more like. He had to stop thinking like that or he really would scare Feliciano away.

Shrugging and putting the phone back in his pocket, he went back into the kitchen and rinsed his coffee mug. Leaning against the counter, he took a moment to listen. Listen to the silence of his home. It was lonely, he thought, and he figured that even if all Feliciano would ever be to him was a friend, that was okay. Because he was the opposite of Ludwig and that was, he knew, the reason that he liked him so.

Since he'd gotten dirty and sweaty from cleaning, he went in to take another shower and spent a half an hour washing his hair and body numerous times, making sure his face was free of stubble. Once he'd finished washing, he wrapped a towel around his waist and pushed his hair back to get a good look at himself. He was thankfully having a day where he felt quite presentable, so he didn't bother doing much more than putting on deodorant and a nice pair of dark jeans and a button up shirt. He noticed for the first time that he had quite a simplistic wardrobe. But it was him, so it went well.

It was 5:15 when he finally finished getting dressed and finding his wallet and keys and shutting off all of the lights. He couldn't help smiling to himself because, even though he would never say it aloud, his mind kept circling back to the title of 'date' and he really just gave up on not thinking of it that way. To him, it was a date.

So when he finally pulled up in the parking lot of the art store and spotted Feliciano sitting on a bench with a Styrofoam cup of what was probably coffee, he just got really excited.

Once he got out of the car and approached the brunette, he could immediately smell the mix of coffee and cologne and shampoo that smelled like flowers and laundry soap and _Feliciano._ He felt his heart skip.

"Ludwig! You're here!"

"Yes, I am. Are you ready to go? You will have to tell me the way."

"Oh it's very easy! It's only about ten minutes, if that, from here."

Ludwig nodded and turned back towards the car, Italian in tow. He couldn't help but notice how good Feliciano looked and he suddenly felt underdressed. While he was wearing simple jeans and a dress shirt, Feliciano was clad in form fitting brown pants, the bottoms cuffed to the top of his ankle boots, and a deeper brown belt. These paired with a cream colored button up and an orange scarf, his hair just as wild and silky as Ludwig remembered. He looked incredible, frankly.

It really did only take a few minutes, once they'd gotten out of the crowded parking lot, to drive to the little restaurant tucked between a book store and a corner pharmacy. It was quaint and Ludwig loved it. Feliciano was practically bounding from his seat before Ludwig had fully parked.

The front panels underneath the windows were a deep red with gold trim, along with a set of wooden double doors that were propped open by specials' signs. There were a few iron cast tables and chairs out front, customers chatting and sipping at mugs of coffee, and it had an atmosphere of familial and kind. Ludwig loved it already.

But before they could even get inside, the small boy beside him was suddenly scooped into the air by someone who'd honestly come out of nowhere and Ludwig didn't really have time to react because he had no idea who this person was.

When Ludwig looked over, Feliciano was being hugged tightly to another man's chest, his squeaks of happy protests barely audible over the other man's loud and excited Spanish rambling. This must be Antonio, Ludwig thought, and he had to say that he commended Lovino for his tastes, for the Spaniard was definitely easy on the eyes.

Once he'd let Feliciano out of his grasp, he started speaking in just as excitable English, his accent and lisp very prominent.

"You told me you were coming to dinner tonight, and I just couldn't wait to see you because it's been almost three weeks since we've seen each other in person! Talking on the phone just isn't the same!"

Feliciano giggled sweetly and tightened his hold on Antonio's hands, their bunched fists held between their chests like gossiping high school girls.

"Well I would have come to see you sooner if you didn't live in the next city! Plus every time you're here working, I'm working myself! Really, what kind of restaurant owner only works at their restaurant only a few times a week!?"

"Sweet, sweet Feli, you know I only live in the next town because I like to live with Francis! But this is not the right conversation for dinner time! Please, please, introduce me to the famous Ludwig! This must me him, no?"

Blue eyes met green and Ludwig felt immediately humbled and calm. He walked a bit closer and smiled as warmly as he could, reaching out his hand to shake Antonio's tanned and calloused one. The hands of a hard worker, Ludwig thought.

"It's nice to meet you, I am Ludwig Beilschmidt."

Antonio chuckled heartily and gave Ludwig's hand, which he'd been holding onto for a lingering moment, a soft squeeze.

"No need to be so formal, amigo! I am Antonio but you can just call me Toni! Feli here does and so do most of my customers and friends."

Ludwig nodded, letting go of the other's hand and stepped a bit closer to Feliciano. Subconsciously of course.

Antonio quickly ushered them inside and to a table near the back where the music was a bit quieter and they could talk more. Ludwig was grateful.

Their waiter was incredibly nice and energetic, bringing them their drinks in record time and treating them like old friends. It was so very fitting for a place such as this and honestly the food was some of the best Ludwig had ever had. Feliciano seemed to be having such a good time and even though he'd had three glasses of wine his demeanor didn't change and neither did his speech or movements. It was impressive, to say the least, that he didn't even seem buzzed. The beer, to Ludwig's excitement, was good, and he had to say that he was disappointed that he could only have one since he'd be driving later.

Once they'd finished eating and spent another hour or so talking with Antonio, who by Feliciano's scolding Ludwig figured out should be working, but he made for great stories so eventually Feliciano let it go, they made their leave. It had gotten dark, it being around 8:00, and Ludwig didn't really know if he wanted to go home alone.

So, when they got back into the car, Ludwig took a deep breath and turned to Feliciano, who was fiddling with the air freshener hanging from the mirror.

"Feliciano, do you want to come over tonight? I have to work tomorrow, so you would be at my house by yourself in the morning. But I don't really have anything to do tonight so . . ."

Feliciano just grinned and pulled his scarf tighter as he snuggled down into the seat.

"Sure, Ludwig. Let's go!"

"V-Very well, then."

And so they went. Feliciano ended up singing to the 90's radio station and by the time they got back to Ludwig's house he'd been pushed back into his childhood through renditions of numerous old bands he thought he'd escaped long ago. But he enjoyed it none the less, because it was with Feliciano.

They spent the rest of the night sitting on the couch, milling through two Saw movies, A Walk To Remember, Pacific Rim, and by recommendation of Feliciano, Castle in the Sky. By the end of their movie marathon it was well into the morning hours, and there were two empty cartons of ice cream, a half eaten pack of twizzlers, and pretzels that somehow made their way all over the carpet. Ludwig felt like he was 16 again, and even though he knew he'd regret it (somewhat) when he woke up, he enjoyed every second of it.

So, with Feliciano asleep on the other end of the couch, Ludwig draped a quilt over him and made his way into his bedroom to get a few hours of sleep before work. As much as he didn't want to leave Feliciano, he knew that the sooner he got to work and got the day over with, the sooner he could come home and _hopefully_ Feliciano would still be there. He hoped. Very, very strongly.

And when the alarm buzzed him awake three hours later, he wished even stronger that the day would end. Because he was so tired, he felt like he was dying.

He was quiet through his shower and making coffee and toast, taking a few minutes to clean up the living room as he ate and admired the little ball of Italian that was cuddled up on the couch. He looked so sweet, and Ludwig just really, really didn't want to leave.

But, here he was, at 7:35am, heading out to his car to drive to the office which smelled of anything _but_ coffee and warmth and sweet shampoo, with people who _weren't _small and cute and bouncy and sweet.

However, even though Ludwig dreaded the work day the very second he stepped out of his car, it did seem to go by fast. He didn't know if it was because he was happy from the night before, or if it was because he was anxious to go see if Feliciano stayed all day, or if it was because, to everyone's surprise, he left precisely on time.

At 5:30, he pulled up in his driveway and leapt out of the car with vigor, his heart and stomach jumping into his throat when he noticed that the living room light was on, and he couldn't stop the grin that spread across his face.

He was greeted with soft instrumental piano and violins, the scent of paint and newspaper and fresh coffee and bread, Feliciano's unmistakable singing voice assaulting his ears, and suddenly his house didn't feel empty and lonely. It didn't feel bland and silent. It felt like _home_.

When he walked through the living room and pushed the swinging door to the dining room open, the music grew just a bit louder and the first thing he noticed was the overwhelming amount of newspaper spread on the floor.

Across the room, across the sea of black and white, Feliciano sat on a tall stool, an easel with a canvas perched in front of him as his paint covered arms and fingers worked with finesse. He must have gone home to get his paints, Ludwig thought, and he had to stifle a laugh, because Feliciano looked really small in front of that huge canvas and his skin and clothing was absolutely covered in paint of every color. Even his hair had paint in it, even though it was tied back with a white bandana, and the fact that the Italian had managed to get paint in even his hair just made Ludwig smile even more. How precious can one person be, he had to ask himself.

Feliciano was obviously in his own little world, because he didn't even look up when Ludwig sat his briefcase down and walked past him into the kitchen. Once he'd poured himself a cup of coffee, which seemed to have been made not too long ago, he leaned against the counter and watched Feliciano paint.

He was taken aback immediately. It was amazing, how Feliciano's nimble little fingers blended and smeared the paint in ways a brush couldn't, making colors and lines that challenged the creative mind. The boldness of the way he painted was incredible, seemingly so unafraid to make mistakes because he just went with however his hands carried the medium. The concentration on his face when he dabbed a burst of yellow, or a smooth caress of blue in an oasis of green, was something akin to love and adoration for his art.

It wasn't until Ludwig placed his hand on Feliciano's shoulder that the brunette looked up from his work, a dazed look in his eyes like he didn't know where he was or what time it was or how he'd gotten to be right next to Ludwig.

"Let me ask you something, Feliciano."

"Hmm?"

"Why are you not studying art at University? This is beautiful, the best I've ever seen anyone paint. Not even Gilbert can paint like this, and he _is _and art student . . ."

A sad look overtook Feliciano's face, one of longing and intense sadness.

"I can't pay for it. I _have_ to pay for Lovino's hospital bills, or they'll stop treating him and he'll die."

"I told you that I would help you, did I not?"

"B-But Ludwig, I could never ask you to help me with both. That's outrageous."

"It is not. What is outrageous is not showing the world this talent and not being able to apply it to all aspects of your life. Do you realize how much people would pay for art work like this?"

"I just can't, Ludwig."

Ludwig walked around to stand in front of Feliciano, careful not to touch the canvas, and put both hands on his shoulders.

"Please let me do this. I can't believe . . . You are so good at this, and it is obvious how much you love it. I am confused as to why you wouldn't jump at this chance."

Feliciano looked down, shamefully, but Ludwig could see a tinge of anger that did not fit Feliciano's face and immediately regretted having said anything at all. Suddenly, Feliciano stood; setting his paintbrush on the newspaper laid out on the dining room table, and walked over to the sink. He washed his hands and arms silently, and forlorn expression plaguing him.

And then he left. He left, Ludwig standing in the kitchen completely lost and upset and empty because he knew he'd fucked up but he had no idea how or why and he just felt so sad. Feliciano had left him, because he insisted and insisted even though he knew in his gut that it wasn't how he should handle the other. But he didn't listen, and just as Gilbert had warned him not to, he'd scared him off. Whether or not he'd see him again, he really didn't know. And that really hurt.


End file.
